


Honeypot

by Vulgarweed



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Animal Play, Animal Transformation, Bear Kink, Bearginshield, Because Shapeshifting, Body Hair, Body Worship, Bottom Bilbo Baggins, Butter, Comeplay, Did You Know Bears Have a Penis Bone?, Food Kink, Frottage, Honey, M/M, Not Quite Over the Bestiality Line But Within Sight of It, Oral Sex, PWP, Rimming, Shapeshifting, Size Difference, Size Kink, Switchy Bilbo, Threesome - M/M/M, Top Bilbo, sharp teeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 10:56:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4874119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulgarweed/pseuds/Vulgarweed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“There was a growling sound outside, and a noise as of some great animal scuffling at the door. Bilbo  wondered what it was, and whether it could be Beorn in enchanted shape, and if he would come in as a bear and kill them. He dived under the blankets and hid his head, and fell asleep again at last in spite of his fears.” [<i>The Hobbit,</i> Chapter 7 "Queer Lodgings," J.R.R. Tolkien)</p><p>That wasn’t entirely fear Bilbo felt when he first saw Beorn change - seems our hobbit has a bear kink (figuratively and literally). Beorn and Thorin manage to co-operate long enough to indulge him.</p><p>Written for the “Animal Play” square in Seasons of Kink</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mildredandbobbin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mildredandbobbin/gifts).



> HUGE thanks to [Winter_of_our_Discontent](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Winter_of_our_Discontent) and [Jinglebell](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jinglebell) for providing close-reading eyes and enthusiastic cheerleading, and to everyone at #antidiogenes.
> 
> Like most of my Hobbit and LOTR fic, this is a hopeless mishmash of book and movie ‘verse. I take elements I like from both and I don’t know how to do it any other way. I don’t think this _quite_ merits a bestiality tag, because Beorn is almost always mostly in his humanlike form here. Mostly. Others may disagree. You might. You were warned.
> 
> For Mildredandbobbin - I know I hoped to have this done near our early July birthdays. Turns out it's belated even for the Baggins birthdays. (In my defense, I didn't know it was going to run to nearly 12k).

The square of white moonlight that came through the smoke-hole in the roof had once been nearly to the door, but it had moved and now fell straight over Bilbo's face where he slept on the straw pallet in Beorn's parlour. He opened his eyes and stretched and smiled at the scent of wholesome summer fields; he felt the most comfortable he'd been since Rivendell.

But that moon wasn't letting him sleep, even though he also had the fullest belly he'd had since Rivendell. Beorn was terrifying and not overfond of Dwarves, but once the rather gruff and alarming introduction was done, Bilbo could find no fault at all with his hospitality. Not that he and his company were in any position to be critical. Bilbo huffed and sighed and closed his eyes again, annoyed with himself. There was no reason he should be having trouble sleeping, and he'd regret it later when their journey took them to less welcoming surroundings, which would come long before he was ready.

The house had a mild uncanniness -- everything was so much too big, even above and beyond the Man- and Elf-sized furnishings that had a way of making a tiny hobbit alone in the world feel even smaller - but that become unsettling in a quiet, harmless way, like the shifting and rustling of the mice and insects and other small inoffensive creatures that Beorn would never suffer to be harmed or even removed from his house.

That wasn’t the cause of Bilbo’s restlessness: that was the sense of alert watchfulness that the house never lost in the dead of the night. For all that the house was strong and Beorn was fearsome, there were dangers ever lurking, and Beorn's abode never went unguarded. Bilbo could only think of how adamantly Gandalf had warned against leaving its safety by night, and the growling and snuffling sounds he heard from time to time seemed proof enough that there were things out there it would probably be best for him not to see, even if they meant him no harm.

But the world was fascinating, and Bilbo thought Beorn was especially so, and so he started to let himself think that if he’d been hired on as a burglar even with no experience, it might be to his advantage to get some more practice in acting like one. He knew couldn't leave the house by the big barred door - even if he stood on a chair to reach the heavy iron latch, he knew how much noise the hinges made. Even when an enormous bear wasn't slamming his whole bulk against it. (And hadn't that been a bit of a thrill, even under the terror.) And now that Bilbo knew that Beorn probably wouldn't kill and devour them all even in bear shape - probably - that freed up the part of his mind that kept coming back to the thrill.

He had been half-dreaming, with a vision of black bears dancing in the vast vegetable garden, surprisingly graceful with their huge shaggy bodies and gigantic sharp-clawed feet, from time to time giving a happy little roar and swinging at each other playfully, wrestling like puppies, but still careful, managing not to crush any of the peas and tomatoes and bean vines that twined in the moonlight.

The idea of it still pleased Bilbo, and he knew that, as terrifying as this adventure had been so far, and at times so extremely inconvenient and uncomfortable, he had also already seen far more than any hobbit's fair share of awe-inspiring and beautiful things. The Tookish side of him was well-pleased.

And wanted to see some more. Large and airy as the house was, it was becoming a bit stifling with so many Dwarves sweating and snoring in it, and the sultry late-summer night air called to Bilbo through the window. The window he was certainly small enough to wiggle through, he thought, especially now that he was missing some of his waistcoat buttons and a good deal of the little paunch-belly he used to have before adventuring put such a strain on his regular mealtimes.

Speaking of mealtimes - which Bilbo was not, because he wasn’t speaking at all - surely a late night snack would not go completely amiss? He couldn’t half murder a side of bacon, but he already knew it was Not Done to speak of meat in Beorn’s house. They’d been well fed nonetheless. Wanting to tame his hunger without imposing overmuch, Bilbo helped himself only to a slab of hearty bread, a pat of butter, and practiced his skills by pocketing a small clay honeypot without spilling any.

The window turned out not to require much wiggling at all, and with a careful little hop he was soon on the porch of Beorn's house. The garden and the meadow stretched out before him, and the evening dew had coated it in tiny drops that reflected the moonlight, so the whole land was cast in pale bluish silver. It was not completely unlike the view and the scents of a summer night in the Shire, and Bilbo closed his eyes as, just for one moment, homesickness washed over him in a rapid flood of sorrow that dissipated as quick as it had come.

He ate half the bread, and laid what was left of it and the butter and honey by his side and reached in his waistcoat pocket for his pipe and pouch, and his fingers brushed the ring absently. Bilbo jumped, for he had not thought of it in hours. He had, as always, the urge to put it on, although he could see nothing that needed hiding from nearby. He shook his head to clear the nagging thought away, and packed himself a pipe instead, sitting back against the wall with a happy little sigh as he sent smoke rings sailing off towards the moon.

Bilbo had nearly all of his favourite pleasures accounted for. But then his thoughts turned inexorably to the missing one, for there was indeed a member of the Company who'd proved amenable to sharing that indulgence with him at least twice and could certainly be persuaded to do it again, especially since Beorn's berry bushes and fruit trees provided enough cover to almost count as privacy. So Bilbo began to contemplate the consequences of waking Thorin and suggesting a romp. Perhaps Thorin would be relaxed enough to not nearly take Bilbo's head off with his sword when startled, this time. (Bilbo rather thought Thorin owed him an apology for that.)

Bilbo would be very content to accept that apology in the form of a nice, long, proper sucking. Oh, the thought of that - watching his own firm, pink cock surrounded by the silky pull of the inside of Thorin's lips, the bristle of that heavy black beard against his soft inner thighs, the dark coarse texture of it blending with his own dark brown thatch of hair when Thorin went all the way down and sucked him in deep. That was a very pleasant thing to be thinking about, and he began to squirm a little there on the porch.

It was likely one of the last warm nights of the year and it deserved enjoyment. So there'd be no harm done if Bilbo decided to undo a button or two on his breeches to relieve a growing pressure. Dwarves were heavy sleepers when they felt safe, and Beorn was nowhere to be seen. Still, at the very least he ought to avail himself of the bushes - and that thought was also just a little bit exciting. He was completely forgetting his manners, and that was a very freeing sort of feeling. Bilbo leaned his head against the wall and pressed his hand to the front of his breeches, not quite letting skin touch skin yet.

It was very, very nice to think of Thorin, and all the sights and sounds and tastes and textures of him that Bilbo had had the pleasure of experiencing those nights in Rivendell, their moans and cries drowning out the wistful Elven music that Thorin claimed to hate and Bilbo rather liked. Thorin was so big and masterful, the thick columns of muscle that were his arms and legs, the rough coating of hair over the curves and swells of his chest and belly - oh yes, Thorin was more than enough for even Bilbo’s appetites . . . 

But that wasn’t the only image that came to mind as Bilbo teased himself, was it? No, no, there had been that terrifying sight he’d glimpsed while scouting. The biggest bear he had ever seen -- well, in truth, the only bear he had ever seen with his own eyes, they were thin on the ground in the Shire - but he was sure that this one was larger than any normal bears were meant to be. A deadly beast it was, roaring its hunger to the moon and showing off its gigantic teeth and claws ... and then, it changed. It became a man, or something that looked very much like one at least, naked but for a coat of body hair. Bilbo had caught a glimpse of a powerful, muscled back and splendidly solid and strong arse and thighs, before terror had taken him and he’d run as fast as his own little legs could carry him, to tell the Company he'd seen the thing that would be the death of all of them.

Well, now that he knew a little more of Beorn the shape-changer and Orc-enemy and generous if grumpy host . . . thoughts of Beorn the mighty wild thing started to come back and Bilbo was now feeling them in a very different light. _No, no,_ Bilbo told himself, feeling oddly disloyal. He and Thorin hadn't made each other any promises after all. But still--

Bilbo sat up straight when he heard motion on the other side of the wall, the unmistakable sound of the heavy latch lifting. He bit his lip and tried to pull his waistcoat and jacket over his lap until he knew who was coming out on the porch - or trying to, fool of a clumsy Dwarf, didn’t he realise how loud that door could be?

But the person pushing the door open was almost stealthy, and the shriek of rusted metal nowhere near as deafening as it could be. Someone who could be light on his feet at time of need, then. Bilbo realised he might not have to hide what he’d been about to do after all. He looked up with a knowing smile when Thorin stepped out onto the porch.

“You didn’t tell anyone you were going out,” Thorin said in a gruff, low voice.

“I didn’t know I had to,” Bilbo said with his best cheeky grin, the one most likely to make Thorin feel challenged. “As you can see, I haven’t gone far.”

“The members of the company should stick together,” Thorin said disapprovingly.

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re here then,” Bilbo said, and he pushed his jacket aside to give Thorin a good view of the little bulge he was now shamelessly stroking. “Two members are better than one.”

Thorin’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight, and he crouched swiftly down by Bilbo’s side. He’d shed his heaviest coat and armour in the warmth of the house, and in his blue tunic and breeches he could move with surprising grace, and only a little clinking from the sword belt that was always the last thing to leave his body. 

Thorin didn’t go in for a kiss at first, he just slid his hand over the top of Bilbo’s thigh, twisting and raising his wrist to grip him between the legs. Bilbo sighed and shivered and leaned in, nosing through the the thick falls of Thorin’s hair, breathing in his earthy scent and searching for a patch of neck to bite.

“Is this your usual method of burglary?” Thorin said, laughing. “Choosing a place that’s out in the open and visible to all and difficult to defend? I would not, unless I wanted to be caught.”

“I admit,” Bilbo gasped, his mouth full of hair, “it was not well-thought-out. I wasn’t sure if I’d have . . . the pleasure of your company.”

“Perhaps those bushes over there are better suited for the purposes we have in mind,” Thorin murmured, his fingers snapping at the buttons of Bilbo’s breeches. “That is, if we are agreed on what those purposes are.”

“Well,” Bilbo said with a little chuckle even as he writhed and fidgeted at Thorin’s teasing squeezes. “I think we could come to an . . . understanding. Perhaps we could . . .come . . . to that understanding together.”

“Is this what passes for good bedchamber talk in the Shire?” Thorin said with a mocking smile.

BIlbo rolled his eyes. “No, Thorin, it is not. However--” He gave a little squirm and slither until he’d rearranged himself into straddling Thorin’s lap. “Since there are convenient bushes right over there, as you pointed out,” he rolled his hips with a slow, salacious grind, putting his whole spine into the effort, and braced one hand on Thorin’s shoulder as he ran the other around the back of Thorin’s neck. “...and since I was arousing myself with thoughts of how big and strong the Dwarves are, especially their _king,”_ and he leaned forward and bit softly, that soft pale stripe between beard and collar, “it would be absolutely wonderful if you’d just wrap those giant hands under my arse, and lift me up, and let me wrap my arms and my legs around you, and you could easily pick me up and carry me yonder to a place - “ he bit again, and sucked lightly over the point of Thorin’s pulse, feeling the vibrations of his deep moan, “where we are unlikely to be seen, and only heard if we aren’t careful, while you and I utterly _despoil_ each other. And then you’ll know all about how the Shire folk talk - when we _fuck.”_

Thorin had been biting his lip and gripping Bilbo’s waist, trying to keep himself calm all through that little speech. Now his hands clamped fiercely around Bilbo’s rear as he awkwardly hauled himself up from the porch, bracing his back against the wall as he rearranged Bilbo’s weight around him in a way that was both secure and enticing, with friction in all the best places. 

Then, carrying Bilbo easily, he strode through the garden, headed for a concealing wall of corn and a hidden bower beneath a green, spreading bush. As Thorin sank to his knees beneath the green shelter, Bilbo did his best to refuse to be disentangled. And when Thorin insisted (mostly by struggling and shoving), that they put enough distance between them to allow clothes to be removed, or at least opened and pushed aside, Bilbo continued to be stubborn. He wordlessly refused to allow Thorin to push him underneath without a little bit of an honest fight, albeit one Bilbo would not be terribly grieved to lose.

“Really,” Bilbo said disapprovingly as he squirmed his way back up atop Thorin. “We have _got_ to talk about this . . . _royal_ behavior of yours . . . it’s a bit arrogant, isn’t it, assuming that I’m always going to be the one bending over for you . . .”

“Bending over is only one possibility,” Thorin growled. “I must admit, I’d envisioned you on your back. Underneath me. With your soft little thighs spread so wide for me and those big hairy feet of yours up around my ears.”

“Underneath you, where you think I belong, no doubt,” Bilbo said, laughing. “I’m not sure my feet would reach that far. Your shoulders, at best. Would you want me to run my toes through your hair?”

“If your feet reached that far, I might bite them,” Thorin said, finally getting the cheeky hobbit into a decent position with legs wrapped around his hips once again. Bilbo let his down his insincere resistance for long enough to enjoy the filthy, hungry appreciation in Thorin’s smoky blue eyes as he undressed. Bilbo liked that thought. Biting, that was good. Clawing, too. Bilbo’s hands darted up to Thorin’s shoulders and then took a more leisurely path down his chest, his fingertips splaying and playing freely in the soft coat of hair, coarser and wilder than that on his head. Thorin had so many _textures._

Bilbo closed his eyes and pulled Thorin’s hair to suggest he wanted things a little rougher, and pushed his face into Thorin’s neck to bite and to lose himself in Thorin’s clean animal scent. And tried not to think of an even bigger, hairier creature - tried not to remember how quickly his terror at the sight of the enormous bear had turned to some other emotion when said bear revealed his manlike shape. 

Bilbo hated to think he could be the sort who would think of another while swiving someone else - it seemed so terribly rude - and he wasn’t _not_ thinking of Thorin, he was _never_ quite not thinking of Thorin. But he also couldn’t put aside the reason why his ardor had risen quite so fast once he realised he was safe, or nearly so, in the house of Beorn.

The house’s owner was so present, even in absence - the absurd size of his furniture, the unnatural boisterousness of his garden. The trampled grass and occasional gigantic pawprint in the mud. The permeating scent of musk and fur and honey. Master Bilbo Baggins of Bag End would never admit to himself that he was capable of entertaining fantasies of being ravished by a beast - but Bilbo had left _that_ hobbit behind many leagues ago. Thorin was large and powerful, far beyond the measure of any hobbit - but there was another that was bigger and furrier and wilder and stronger yet, and it was his home they were about to use in a way their host had probably not anticipated.

Would Beorn consider that rude? It made Bilbo feel very bold and wild indeed to realise that he didn’t care.

His shirt was threadbare and fragile with wear; it tore a little in Thorin’s grip, and Bilbo didn’t mind as Thorin’s bristly beard descended on his soft neck, tickled his throat, and moved down his chest with little licks of Thorin’s tongue and little nips of his teeth, and each little bite made Bilbo jerk and shiver. He encouraged Thorin with fierce little sounds he was shocked to hear himself making, unrestrained and unafraid.

“Sssh, we’ll be caught,” Thorin grumbled, speaking mostly to Bilbo’s right nipple, which was certainly not the source of the noise, though it may have been the cause.

BIlbo just moaned only slightly more quietly, and wriggled himself far enough to cup Thorin’s straining hammer through the thin cloth of his breeches, plucking and pulling at the laces until the great warm velvet-skinned beast popped free, slick and eager in Bilbo’s hand. Thorin made a raw, hungry sound that went straight to Bilbo’s own cock. Bilbo pushed Thorin’s breeches down as far as he could, enough that his own desperate member could seek out the crease of Thorin’s thick, hairy thigh to nuzzle against. He cried out again at the delirious heat of it - and wondered why Thorin had suddenly gone so still.

Then he heard it, and wondered no more. There was something approaching. Something very big. Thorin moved his hand from one weapon to another - his sword-hilt, similar in shape to the tool he’d been touching, but very different in purpose. “Silence,” Thorin whispered.

“A bit late for that,” boomed a deep, slightly growling voice. “You’ve already wakened the bees and troubled the goats with your mating-noises.”

Beorn’s large head burst through the curtain of leaves - his man-head, thankfully. Well, the man-head with the face upon it, not the other one.

Bilbo squeaked, and Beorn laughed. “At your ease, little bunny. Mating doesn’t offend me.”

Thorin was spluttering - and blushing in a way that Bilbo would freely chuckle at if Thorin were not quite so well-armed and tetchy.

“Even if it’s a bit . . . unnatural?” Bilbo said, appalled at the squeaky crack of his own voice. He was really only concerned that it might be considered bad manners among Beorn’s folk to partake of such pleasures in someone else’s house or garden without inviting the host to join in. He was certain that if the issue ever came up among hobbits, it would be considered very crass. Or at least, that was what he was going to tell all other folk he met who knew little of hobbits and probably would never meet another one to prove Bilbo wrong.

“Clearly it is not unnatural, since all kinds of animals do it,” Beorn said. “But most beasts I’ve observed tend to stick to their own kind.”

Oh, that got Bilbo’s hackles up - and even in this situation, one significant hackle that should normally go down was in truth standing up even taller. “What, do you think a Dwarf and a hobbit are so different that it’s like lying with a beast?”

“I said no such thing, little bunny,” Beorn said. “I’ve never seen a hobbit before, and never quite so _much_ of a Dwarf, that I truly do not know how like or unlike you may be. From what I can see now, though, I understand you are more like than unlike.”

“I apologise for our rudeness,” Thorin flatly, trying to tug his own clothes back on and cover Bilbo decently at the same time.

“Oh no no, don’t apologise for me,” Bilbo said. Thorin looked at him with surprise, for Bilbo had always been free with meaningless apologies before. “I’m not apologising yet. Begging your pardon, I’m very unfamiliar with your people’s customs, Beorn. I have no idea if I should apologise or not. If I must, I shall. If I’ve given offense, I’ll make amends gladly.”

“You haven’t given offense,” Beorn said, laughing low and dark in his throat. “Not by this anyway.”

“Oh good,” Bilbo said. “Then I have to tell you I’m not the least bit sorry.” With a grin, he began to undo all of Thorin’s hasty work to decently cover him, watching Thorin’s face for reactions. To Bilbo’s great pleasure, Thorin seemed to have quickly decided to let Bilbo be as wanton as he wished. (This was a rash decision, as Thorin had not yet experienced the full extent of that, and knew not what he was getting into.) 

“Nor should you be,” Beorn said with a sharp grin. His shaggy hair fell over his small, intelligent eyes in a fetching way, and he swept it back with a massive hand as he leaned in closer. “I see little bunny is not so little everywhere.”

“It’s still got to be the smallest you’ve ever seen, isn’t it?”

“It suits you,” Beorn said in a voice that was not exactly a growl. More like a purr, which Bilbo found confusing as he was fairly sure that bears did not purr. “Effective little stinger for a sweet honeybee.”

The noise of Thorin clearing his throat loudly was not the least bit like a purr. Bilbo actually did feel a bit guilty then, but it passed quickly. Thorin looked wary and resentful - but not entirely uninterested. Not entirely blind to Beorn’s charms. That was exactly the line of thinking Bilbo wished to encourage. “Perhaps a Dwarf’s great tallywhacker is more to your liking,” he said to Beorn slyly. “Still smaller than I’m sure yours must be, but proportionally I think it’s quite impressive.” 

Thorin did look shocked at that, but Beorn not at all. He was wonderfully frank and unembarrassed about, well, mating, even though they didn’t have the excuse of making offspring. Such it is with animals, thought Bilbo, who’d lived his whole life in a farming village after all, and knew that modesty was never a priority in the barnyard. How much more so must it be for truly wild creatures, who lived free and untamed by civilisation’s rules? Oh, Bilbo began to squirm just to think of it, what it must be like in the mountain caves, in the forest, the hidden never-ploughed virgin meadows.

“Bilbo,” Thorin whispered uselessly, to Beorn’s apparent amusement. Bilbo almost imagined Beorn’s ears swivelling to catch the sound, his nose snuffling the air - the scent of arousal giving out its unspoken call.

“If I didn’t know better,” Beorn said, sniffing. “I’d think that was an invitation.”

“You don’t know better,” Bilbo said, and for the first time he reached out to touch Beorn’s wild hair, thick and coarse and uncontrolled. “You said before, you know nothing of hobbits. As the first hobbit you have met, sir, I feel it’s only my duty to reward your hospitality with generosity of my own, lest you think my people are all take and no give. Dwarves you seem to have already made up your mind about, and it isn’t very nice, so perhaps if you give Thorin a chance he might be able to make you think a little better of them?”

Thorin was gaping, apparently caught between shock and jealousy and a sort of horrified lust, for clearly the idea intrigued him as least as much as it scandalised him. Best not to give Thorin too much time to think - Bilbo leaned in quickly and took a handful of Thorin’s hair, and pulled Thorin’s mouth back where it belonged, onto his own. Hard and lewd was this kiss, with Bilbo making certain to wiggle his tongue in filthy, suggestive ways until Thorin’s own pulsed up to meet it, and then Bilbo began to suck upon it, pulling his mouth back and then forward again until Thorin could not fail to notice what he was implying. A quick glance out of the corner of Bilbo’s eye assured him that Beorn was watching this with rapt attention, trembling and possibly trying hard not to smile quite so broadly. 

“Bilbo-” Thorin muttered as best he could.

“Hush,” Bilbo said with surprising force. “When will an opportunity like _this_ arise again?”

“My dear generous hobbit,” said Beorn, with a rough edge to his voice. “If your . . . partner . . . is afraid, then perhaps . . .”

 

“Afraid?” Thorin cried. “I am not _afraid.”_

Bilbo had caught on to Beorn’s game right away, of course, for it promised the result he wanted most. “It’s quite all right if you are, Thorin. We don’t have to do this if it’s too much for you.”

Thorin froze for just a moment. Then his eyes went dark and wild, and quick as a strike he reached out for Beorn, curling shaking fingers through Beorn’s scruffy dark mane, and pressed the huge head closer towards his. “I am afraid,” Thorin said stiffly. “But I do not back down from my fear.”

“Wisely spoken, master Dwarf,” said Beorn, and crushed his mouth to Thorin’s as Bilbo looked on with feverish glee and nearly stained his breeches on the spot at the sight of the two powerful, muscular creatures attacking each other in the most pleasurable of ways.

As they kissed, Beorn’s huge hands grasped Thorin’s hips and pulled him closer, and Bilbo had a choice of being pushed out of the way or crushed between them, and he made the second choice, angling his rear into Beorn’s lap so he could use his arse to feel - oh goodness. _Oh my stars, it is immense._ But Bilbo wriggled and writhed to see if it could grow any further. He pushed his hand backwards to grope at the fastenings of Beorn’s breeches, and with his other he finished freeing Thorin’s cock as best he could, and found it scorching hot and slick and wet. His fingers and thumb could barely meet around it - and around Beorn’s, with his other hand, they could not meet at all.

Lost in the heady scent of both them combined with the sweet waft of the night-blooming flowers, Bilbo did his best to work them both at once, and of course it happened to be Beorn’s giant member in his weaker hand. But he could let himself do nothing but his best, because he and Thorin were with someone new and first impressions are very important . . . and then all his thoughts were snuffed out with sparks when Thorin gripped Bilbo’s jaw and claimed his mouth. The prickle of his beard and mustache felt wondrously tickly against Bilbo’s soft face, and the plunge and probe of his tongue carried the rich, unfamiliar, foresty taste of Beorn.

Bilbo opened his mouth for the plundering and raised his own little tongue to slide against Thorin’s, yelping softly into Thorin’s mouth as huge hands grasped his hips from behind and pulled his rear more tightly against Beorn’s massive bulk. A blunt nose - a snout, almost - snuffled at his ear, his jaw, and the back of his neck, blowing his curly hair aside with huffing breaths, taking hold of his nape with large, sharp teeth that menaced even as they held him still, gently and carefully. “Could carry you like this like a wayward cub,” Beorn whispered. “You’d like that. All the way to Mirkwood.”

Bilbo moaned and grasped at Thorin and Beorn harder, counteracting that unpleasant little feeling in his belly at the name of the place where he really wished he wouldn’t have to go, he certainly didn’t want to think about that _now._ “Want to stay right here,” he panted as he writhed between the two large, strong bodies that squeezed him hard between them, and humped and writhed against him both front and back. “Do this forever.”

“Forever is a long time, chubby bunny,” murmured Beorn, catching Bilbo’s belly - not nearly so soft as it once was - and kneading it lightly. Bilbo glanced down for a minute to see those huge hands pawing at him, scratching him gently with clawlike nails, and the sight of it sent a surge of heat through him, and if someone could touch him where he needed it most that would be just lovely. But considering the two powerful creatures surrounding and holding him, he thought he ought not be too demanding just yet.

There was much wriggling and struggling and undignified grunting, and if Bilbo was in perfect position to drive Thorin a little bit mad with his struggles to rearrange his legs, then so be it. Thorin was looking daggers across Bilbo to Beorn, who was beginning to huff and growl in a distinctly un-Man-like manner as he gripped Bilbo and humped against him.

The tension building in Bilbo’s loins was fierce and sharp. Wild and hungry he felt, a feral creature himself, as he immersed his hands and face in the scent and feel of hairy skin, pushing his rear up wantonly.

But - oh heavens, the sheer size of that thick tree-trunk rod that pressed into his back with each rocking movement! Oh, he had thought so highly of himself, certain he’d be able to take all that Thorin had to offer, but this -- he might have to admit defeat before he’d even properly tried, for that giant prong would surely split him in two if he could manage to get it in at all.

He squirmed against it to hear Beorn roar a little, a low dangerous sound that threatened mortal mauling before it softened to a chuckle, still tense and unfettered.

“Tempted?” Bilbo asked.

“Yes - but perhaps not in the way you think,” Beorn said.

Thorin sat up straight at this and decided to put a foot down, even though his feet were in no position to move very far. “I won’t allow _that,”_ he declared. “Anything, anything else but that.”

“Oh, you think my eyes are bigger than my belly, do you?” Bilbo said, eyes narrowing.

“It’s not your _belly_ you’re overestimating,” Thorin snapped, and immediately blushed.

“Now, now, little fellow,” Beorn said, in a way that was both deeply kind and impressively insulting. “It need not be so fearsome.” He lifted Bilbo easily out of the clutch as if the hobbit weighed nothing, and laid him down on the ground on his back. Bilbo shivered at the ease with which Beorn did this, and he was happy for the nonce just to lie there as he was bid, naked and hard and proud and thoroughly enjoying his own mild fear.

“Well, _I’m_ not afraid,” Bilbo said, as if by the saying alone he could make it true.


	2. Chapter 2

“That wasn’t directed to you,” Beorn said, glancing up at Thorin. Thorin’s eyes tracked Beorn’s every movement as the great bear-man leaned down over Bilbo, caressing him and drinking in the sight of him. “How hairless you are,” Beorn murmured, marvelling. “How small and soft.” Bilbo started to object, for he was not any such thing by the standards of his own folk, and yet ...

“If anyone must take that monster, then let it be me,” Thorin said. “Then perhaps you will think more kindly of Dwarves.”

 

“Let me have my feast first and then I shall consider your offer,” said Beorn. 

Bilbo looked up at Thorin above him and hoped the Dwarven king’s pride would not take too much injury from what was about to occur, for what he thought Beorn was about to do was something that could strike straight to the heart - and southerly points - of a hobbit. For Beorn had taken up the honeypot - laying the bread aside - and began to move the dripper slowly over Bilbo’s throat and chest and belly, watching carefully and sniffing as the heavy golden strands dripped slowly onto his skin. Beorn’s small, bright eyes widened at the scent of honey and hobbit, and a long tongue started to loll between his sharp teeth. Bilbo let out a low, quiet shuddering breath as Beorn’s tongue started to mop up the honey streaks - it had a rough texture, strong and slick. Bilbo started to reach up to guide Beorn’s head where he wanted it, and found his hands pinned to the ground - by _Thorin_ , who was watching Beorn’s mouth and Bilbo’s responses with mesmerized hunger.

Bilbo gave a happy sound, he clutched at Thorin’s thick wrists with his trapped hands as best he could, and squirmed obscenely under Beorn’s licking and sucking of his sensitive skin. He was going to be so sticky and filthy when all this was done, writhing in the dirt and covered in honey and Beorn’s spit and who knew what else. The thought of that made him moan and squirm even more, arching up into Beorn’s tongue, and those long, sharp teeth just grazing him in such sensitive vulnerable places - his throat, his nipples, his belly. Thorin’s heated gaze fell over him and he looked up to meet it, bold and shameless.

Thorin started to press down towards him, to take his own taste, and Beorn’s huge head jerked up, looked at Thorin, and _growled._ Thorin moved backwards only a little, and did not release his hold on Bilbo’s wrists. 

“Oh, I say,” BIlbo muttered. “I may be small but there is enough of me for both of you to enjoy if you just learn how to share.”

Beorn huffed angrily - and it was not lost on Bilbo that he didn’t speak, that he seemed to have lost his words, that he seemed to be growing larger and furrier in the sheen of moonlight that distorted everything and deceived the eye. Then Beorn went back to work with the honey dripper, making the already-honey-coloured curls at the base of Bilbo’s cock stiff and sticky, dribbling little streaks over the head of his prick before lowering his head to taste.

“Careful with him,” Thorin said, hardly a breath, barely audible, but Beorn’s ears were keen, and he glared across Bilbo’s shivering body. Then Beorn bent, and took Bilbo’s prick in his mouth with a startling softness, gentle at first, not a slightest hint of his long dangerous teeth touching him.

Bilbo was terrified, and that only served to heighten his pleasure. Thorin dared to bend over him now, draping his long hair over Bilbo’s face. Bilbo felt the prickle of Thorin’s beard and moustache on his neck and shoulder, and felt Thorin bite him hard in exactly the same way that Beorn did not, and he lost himself in dual sensation, cruelty at his top and tenderness engulfing his cock, pulling and licking and sucking, pure pleasure administered by a terrifying monster of a man.

Thorin gave a deep groan of delight as he watched this, leaning close, making sure to miss nothing. Beorn growled at him a little jealously, as if Thorin were trying to steal his meal. Thorin ground his teeth and leaned back a little as Bilbo tried to squeeze his hand just before he closed his eyes and was lost to the world as the smooth texture of a sharp fang stroked his length with a delicacy he couldn't have imagined in such a fearsome beast of a man. But he remembered that Beorn ate no meat and did not hunt, and would harm no living creature who didn't wish him ill. It made Bilbo feel almost safe in his mouth, surrounded by those great hairy arms as Beorn leaned closer over him and worked his long rough tongue around Bilbo's bollocks and his soft inner thighs and the lower curves of his arse, snuffling for air as he licked every last drop of honey from Bilbo's skin and downy hair, and continued to lick and suck when Bilbo was sure it all must be long gone.

"Why is your Dwarf just staring and doing nothing?" Beorn asked when he came up for air and left Bilbo gasping.

"Because I feared you would hurt him if I dared," snarled Thorin, more than a little bearish himself.

"You should think better of me by now," Beorn said, low and gruff as he reached out and pulled Thorin’s hair. "Show me what you're made of, if you are not afraid."

"Afraid?" Thorin said, in that low voice that Bilbo had come to recognize as very dangerous indeed. "Thorin Oakenshield, the rightful king of Erebor, afraid of a tumble with a hobbit and a - whatever you are? My ancestors would rise from their tombs and strangle me for shame if I -"

"Oh, do shut up and kiss him," Bilbo whined. "Touch me - touch him - do something, I cannot stand waiting any longer."

Thorin leaned forward and so did Beorn, and they pinned Bilbo between them as their mouths came together, and Bilbo looked up into the growling tangle of hair and beards and lips and teeth and flashes of tongue. King of Dwarves and a king of beasts, together, and Bilbo liked to imagine for a moment that he was the spoils of their intimate war.

As if hearing his thoughts, Beorn and Thorin both put hands upon him and punctuated their savage, grunting kisses with with grasps and pinches and caresses of Bilbo’s nipples and cock and thighs, taking liberties with him that they hardly seemed to notice, being so wrapped up in each other. Their huge, calloused hands caught and dragged on places still sticky with honey, and Bilbo groaned and made a high-pitched sound as Beorn’s huge hand reached between his legs and under his straining cock and took up his delicate little sac of stones, now heavy and full and sensitive, and Bilbo bit his lip and writhed into it.

His hands now released from Thorin’s forgetful grasp, Bilbo decided to counterstrike while they were occupied, and tried to be stealthy as he angled himself so that not one but two massive cocks were within range of his grip. He could not fit his hand around either one - Beorn’s, not even close - but bless him, he tried, and squeezed and slid as best he could for the thrill of the two of them gasping and groaning into each other’s mouths and breaking apart from their devouring kiss to look down on him with unrestrained lust.

“We really must do a better job of making sure no one is left out,” Bilbo said peevishly.

“And when you say, ‘we’--” demanded Thorin, who now had seemed to overcome all his reservations about Beorn.

“I mean exactly that,” said Bilbo, ineffectually sliding his little hand about on Beorn’s massive shaft. “Seeing as how this here appears to be a two-person job.”

“I’d hardly ask it of you, little bunny,” Beorn said in his deep rumble as he lightly thrust against Bilbo’s hand, nearly jerking his cock out of Bilbo’s grasp. Bilbo clearly thought it needed two hands but was unwilling to let go of Thorin, who at least fit more closely in his palm. “In fact, I have given it thought and decided that I have a job for you.”

“For me?” Bilbo asked, looking at the monster in his hand. 

For once Thorin took initiative and reached out his own hand to help Bilbo fit around the girth. “It is nearly as thick as you are, Bilbo.”

“I hope you are referring to my size and not my intelligence,” Bilbo said. “In either case, though, you’re wrong.”

Beorn dropped his big head and nosed at Bilbo’s chest. “I like you on your back. But you cannot reach me where I want you.”

“And that is?” Bilbo asked, more than a little frightened again as Beorn’s massive hand dipped through the pat of butter and began to rub Bilbo’s cock with it - slick and greased and completely disappearing in the coil of Beorn’s thick fingers.

“Behind me, little bunny,” Beorn whispered, and Bilbo’s head reeled as he thought he began to understand. “Inside me. Surely you’ve thought of it.”

“I - I - hadn’t,” Bilbo admitted. Though the logic of it began to impress him. “But I -” _Would you even feel it?_ he thought but did not say.

Thorin’s sharp intake of breath convinced him, for the swell of his cock at the very suggestion of it was even more telling.

_Ah, so Thorin has likely thought of me in that capacity,_ Bilbo thought. _Very good to know._

“I would be interested to feel a demonstration of the mettle of the Shirefolk,” Beorn said, with a fangy little grin. “For none of my people have had such a thing.”

“Well, if I’m to represent my entire people, I must rise to the challenge,” Bilbo said.

“You seem to be rather thoroughly risen already,” Thorin said, and finally he drew back, reluctantly removing his cock from Bilbo’s distracted hand. “This I have to see. Perhaps compose a song to be sung in the ale-halls of Erebor when my kingdom is reclaimed.”

"And then I hope no one will ever call my sword a letter-opener again," Bilbo declared as he started to scramble up eagerly. Thorin seized a firm handful of Bilbo's arse as the hobbit reared up on his knees, excited and a little bit afraid of what he was about to get into. Literally.

"Oh, well, that was ill-said," Beorn said, staring at Bilbo's cock with his cunning, hungry eyes. "I hope you never grace the one who said that with a taste of it."

Bilbo's libido was not improved by the mental image of Balin gagging for it, but it could also not be defeated by it either. Not when Beorn rose up on his hands and knees, not when his huge rounded shoulders bent for a moment as he pressed licking, toothy kisses to each of Bilbo's nipples and then his neck and then his mouth, not when he growled into Bilbo's kiss and captured Bilbo's head for just a moment in his giant, hairy hands, claws trailing lightly over the points of his ears, and then gave a low, primal laugh, and turned around.

From behind, Beorn was astounding. Arse-stounding. Outstanding. Watching Thorin out of the corner of his eye - Thorin was watching Bilbo and Beorn with both his eyes, full-on, and his great forge-hammer of a cock in his hand. Bilbo leaned over Beorn as far as he could - which wasn't very far at all, but far enough for the nonce. He rubbed his face in the coarse hair on Beorn’s back, which he was all but certain had grown thicker since they began, and found he could not even quite reach around his bulk to touch his cock again. Well, then Thorin would have to earn his keep in that regard, would he not, for Bilbo bent at last to his true task.

Beorn on all fours looked - rather more himself somehow - bulky and thick, but graceful. His muscular arse was presented to Bilbo like a treasure as Bilbo stroked the backs of his great columns of thighs with a fearsome reverence, for his own hands looked small and ineffective for their job.

Not the honey for this task, no (and Bilbo was quite proud of himself for surpassing the giggle that threatened to rise up at the thought of how sticky it would be on a body with so much fur - even his own skin creaked and prickled a little with it now, where Beorn had licked him not quite completely clean.) He trailed his fingers through butter, squeezing it in lumps through his fingers and listened to Beorn’s pleased growls in front of him as Thorin resumed kissing him, pulling his hair and shimmying close on his knees.

Delicious. Thick fur in the crack between domed cheeks, nearly suggestive of a tail. Bilbo leaned in, ran his mouth over the sweet indented plane of the base of Beorn’s spine, kissing and licking, flattening his tongue to cover as much rough surface as possible, loving the slight scrape of hair and the clean feel of skin beneath, to hear Beorn’s pleased sighs and huffs into Thorin’s neck as Beorn nipped the Dwarf’s throat lightly. Bilbo worked his way down to one firm round swell, and dared to bite it lightly as he slid his buttered fingers between and began to stroke up and down, lingering only a little at the tight pucker that awaited him.

Beorn rolled his spine in an encouraging manner, hunching his back as his great arms reached out and pulled Thorin against him. Thorin made a sound that was half indignant and half delighted, to be dwarf-handed quite so easily - and Bilbo rather thought fair enough, it was Thorin’s turn to get a taste of _that._

And speaking of tasting, the strong muscle of Beorn’s cheeks did not part so easily in Bilbo’s hands alone, not until Beorn bent further down and maneuvered Thorin beneath him to pay him closer attention and open the way for Bilbo to dive deeper. Bilbo inhaled the clean but strong animal scent before slicking the way with butter, which brought its own taste and flavour, gleaming yellow and savoury in the deep cleft of Beorn’s body. Bilbo took a huge breath, filling his lungs with the heady night air, and took the first long run of his tongue down the deep groove of delicious flesh, feeling Beorn flex and groan beneath him. And whatever Beorn did to Thorin produced an effect as well, a strangely high shivery sound. Bilbo so wished he could see, but that was the problem with placing the smallest person behind the largest one - and whose idea had that been, after all?

So Bilbo closed his eyes, for the view was dark now anyway, and applied his mouth to Beorn’s fundament with savouring full attention, the groans and moans and gasps a mere distant reminder. For of all the free peoples of Middle-earth, no one can concentrate like a hobbit when applying oneself to the matter of eating, literally or no. Bilbo’s tongue raked Beorn from stem to stern, dropping to drag on the skin and hair of his massive dangling bollocks, then pulling back up slowly to dance at the edge of that tight little hole, feeling its roughness and its silkiness, pushing against it - as first as politely as knocking upon a stranger’s door, and then with greater insistence.

Beorn rolled and swayed nearly hard enough to dislodge Bilbo, but the hobbit merely clenched on with great meaty handfuls of arse, and pressed right back in, stopping only to breathe. When he could tell he had licked up all the butter, he reached back for more, and as he smeared it in, he started to push a finger into that enticing not-quite-open opening.

Beorn let out a deep, growling moan, and did something to Thorin that made Thorin’s legs twitch and kick a little, for that was all of him that Bilbo could see. Bilbo read this as encouragement - but then he no longer had to guess, for Beorn shattered the near-silence of moans and gasps with the first words in a good while: “You are nice and thorough indeed, but you test my patience, little one.”

His voice was raspy and raw, and bent upwards sharply as Thorin did something that Bilbo could not see, but could imagine vividly.

Beorn’s desire was clear as he lowered himself to bring Bilbo into better alignment, spreading his legs until there was little but Thorin to hold him up off the ground.

Thorin’s voice sounded muffled and strangled when he said, “Oh, plough him already before he crushes me!”

Well, if he was requested by his host as well as ordered by a King to do a certain act, who was Bilbo to decline? He climbed up into the right angle as best he could, with Beorn’s help to find the right fit, and coated his rigid cock in butter. He was so desperately aroused that he was surprised the heat of his flesh did not melt it to liquid immediately. Slick and sure and not the least bit cooled by it, Bilbo gave himself a few sweet slow strokes and almost fainted from the joy of it, the beauty of Beorn presented and waiting in such a wanton manner - waiting for _him._

Bilbo braced himself with one hand on that strong, broad back, and with the other he pressed the eager, slick head of his cock against Beorn’s entrance. So slow at first he leaned in, angling his weight into it. He felt the circle of muscle give slowly around him, and sucked in breath with a desperate hiss. He was clenched and clutched and embraced, he was surrounded by clinging slick velvet, and Beorn’s body shook slightly with a deep happy sound (and Bilbo was relieved by this, for Beorn apparently _didn’t_ find him too small to even notice).

Emboldened, Bilbo pushed in further and hoped Beorn wouldn’t be too disappointed when he bottomed out with a little slap, his hips pounding into the great cushions of Beorn’s arse with shivery little bounces - and Beorn responded with slow, grinding motions, lifting and lowering his heavy hips with a surprising grace. Beneath him, Thorin made rasping panting sounds, and Bilbo saw a pair of hands clutching at Beorn’s back from underneath. He reached up and placed his own hands over Thorin’s as he established a deep, lazy pace for fucking, enough to build their pleasure slowly but not grow it too sharply or spill too soon. With a little scramble of his legs, he climbed up on Beorn’s thighs for a better angle and felt well-supported, well-balanced as he rocked his hips downward, pushing and pulling in rhythm into and out of Beorn’s body, which rolled beneath him like a heaving sea of fur and flesh.

Delight. Sheer fleshy delight, the silken heat and cradling squeeze of him - the scent and sight and sound of that great strong body, and Thorin’s hands beneath Bilbo’s own, clenching and releasing in Beorn’s muscle. A little prod of Thorin’s leg emerging from between and under Beorn’s legs as they all moved together.

“Oh - oh, it’s so good, so tight,” Bilbo cried, a little startled again by the sound of words.

“Splendid cocksman, you are,” Beorn growled. “But you can go harder, are you afraid you’ll hurt me?” His thick burrs of laughter were enough to provoke Bilbo to speed up, using his hips to give a secret spanking for that. Beorn moaned, and Thorin moaned too, for reasons that Bilbo could only imagine.

At last, breathing hard as he worked hard, Bilbo managed to gasp out, “What’s he doing, Thorin? I can’t see you! Tell me! Talk to me!”

“Ah Bilbo,” came Thorin’s strangled deep voice, muffled by Beorn’s mass. “I’m rutting hard against his thigh, but he pulls back whenever I’m close. His cock is driving against my belly with every stroke you . . . aahh.” Beorn gave his hips a lewd circular roll that Bilbo could do nothing but ride, chasing his own pleasure with sharp, tight little strokes that made Beorn give short, broken grunts.

“I wish I could see you,” Bilbo cried, nearly winding himself with the effort of shouting. “Both of you.”

“Go, go, take it, don’t hold back,” Beorn said, his voice dropping low enough to shake Bilbo and Thorin and the ground beneath them. “Hang onto me, bear-rider!” His body seemed to grow and change, and indeed it was only by grasping onto the thickening fur of Beorn’s hips that Bilbo maintained his hold and did not slip from his comfortable sheath to land in a graceless heap behind him.

But with a fierce little growl of his own, and a baring of his own teeth, Bilbo lost all his manners and politeness, and hammered his little shaft into Beorn as wildly as he could. Beorn’s roars encouraged him. With a slap, slap, slap of his pumping hips, Bilbo reached his crisis and felt star-bursts popping behind his eyes as he closed them, cried out, thrusting wildly until he was done.

Beorn seemed to relax then, and with his prick softening slightly - but not completely - Bilbo pulled out slowly, in a little squelch of seed and melted butter. Beorn gave a happy little wriggle - but of course he was not yet satisfied himself, and Bilbo might have felt ashamed had he not known that the had absolutely done his best --

“Don’t fade out on me yet, little bunny,” chuckled Beorn.

“Oh, I think not sir, I’m still going strong,” Bilbo panted, though his limbs were rubbery and his head was foggy - yet the sounds of Thorin beneath Beorn having something delicious done with him, that Bilbo could not see but could only imagine, started to fire him up again. Master Bilbo Baggins of Bag End would have begged off for a nap, saying that after all he was a middle-aged fellow, no longer a horny tween with his hands in his breeches all day - but as he had noted, he had left _that_ hobbit behind many leagues ago. _This_ Bilbo Baggins had regained much of his youthful stamina, and had a far greater appreciation for rare opportunities.

With a terrible, sudden speed Beorn reared up on his knees and turned quickly, and as though it was no effort at all, he lifted up Bilbo by his waist and gave his neck and shoulders a bristly nuzzle, all snout and stubble, inhaling his scent deep into his massive barrel chest. Bilbo wrapped his arms around Beorn’s neck and drank deep of a wet toothy kiss, enjoying again the lap of that long sensing tongue. Kneading the flesh of Bilbo’s hips and sides none too gently, Beorn huffed at him happily and then suddenly laid him down, on his back right on top of Thorin.

Thorin sat up a little, drawing Bilbo in between his legs and holding him close. Thorin himself was only mostly undressed - his breeches down around his calves and his thick cock still proud and slick and obviously not yet sated, his tunic open and hanging on by one shoulder only. Thorin wrapped up Bilbo with a strong hairy arm and licked at his ear, whispering soft hungry sillinesses like, “I am so proud of you, my burglar.”

“No challenge to steal what’s freely given,” Bilbo murmured and earned a slap on the thigh for his cheek. 

Beorn leaned over both of them, still breathing heavily and emitting the heady scent of a male beast in rut, his giant cock still rampant and looming over Bilbo and Thorin, looking fearsome and determined while its owner still appeared affable.

“Surely there’s still much more we can do for you, sir?” Bilbo asked breathlessly, looking straight on at that strong, rigid weapon that seemed to demand satisfaction so eloquently.

“I wished I could have seen you while you fucked me,” Beorn said. “I believe you wished you could have watched me playing with your companion. I believe he wished he could have seen you.”

“True,” Thorin panted as he humped quietly against Bilbo. “For my part. I wished I could see him.”

“I wish to see too. Bilbo, are you amenable to getting fucked by your Dwarf, just there in his lap where you are right now, while I watch?”

“Ohhhh,” BIlbo gasped and heard Thorin groan behind him and clutch him close, pinching at his nipples. His cock began to wake from its rest. “Oh goodness yes, Thorin, I’m fine for another round right now if we take it that way.” 

“I am at your service,” Thorin murmured as he bit Bilbo’s neck and dropped his hands to the hobbit’s hips as Bilbo reached for the butter again. 

Bilbo could feel Thorin’s cock prodding against him, hot and twitching and wet, and chuckled as he rolled his hips around so the cleft of his arse gripped it a little. “Yes, yes you certainly are. Right there, and so ready.”

“You are not yet ready,” Thorin whispered, biting Bilbo’s ear as Bilbo squirmed to angle himself properly for the push of his buttery fingers.

“I’m not inexperienced,” Bilbo said indignantly.

“I would not dare to suggest that,” Thorin laughed. “But I am rather big for you.”

“Indeed, and I look forward to it very much,” Bilbo said, and his last syllable turned into a yelp as Thorin’s middle finger breached him. It was a delightful sensation in itself, and in a different type of moment Bilbo would not have been opposed to making it last and last and last - but oh, for goodness sake, he was relaxed and ready. He wriggled his arse against Thorin’s hand, asking wordlessly for more. Thorin pushed in a second finger. Bilbo gave an irritated little grunt. “I know you have more than that to give me, so stop holding back.”

Thorin took his probing fingers away, and at last just silently consented to hold his own cock by its base and place a hand on Bilbo’s right hip, guiding him down onto it. Bilbo felt that slick, fat, greased head pushing at his arsehole, and pressed down slowly, making sure Thorin could feel the resistance, the giving in, and the slow sheathing. Thorin made a delightful sound that Bilbo hoped to commit to memory for all his days: a deep but plaintive cry of joy and relief. Oh, poor Thorin, how cruelly had Beorn teased him? Bilbo let out his own hoarse moan to think of it, even kingly Thorin beneath Beorn's control.

Bilbo saw that Beorn was watching intently as Thorin gripped Bilbo from behind - running his hands everywhere from thighs to chest, squeezing his belly, pinching his nipples, taking possession again with his hands and his body as he pushed Bilbo a little bit forward with his first careful but mighty thrust. Bilbo whimpered a little as he stretched, spreading his thighs until Thorin grabbed him by one large hairy foot and bent it gently back against his own calf, aligning them beautifully, and Thorin's strong arm held him tight and gave him an anchor to hold, hairy and solid and strong. Thorin's breath blew hot against his ear and his neck, ruffled his curls, and Bilbo turned his head to draw him closer for a kiss that was sloppy and awkward and certain to give Beorn a show of slipping lips and tongues.

Beorn growled and leaned in close, all bright eyes and looming shoulders and huge, dripping prick desperate for attention. Bilbo's own cock lurched back to life in sympathy as the pressure and pleasure within him built with every slow rocking movement of Thorin's. Held safe and split open in the best of ways, Bilbo leaned forward as best he could and took Beorn's huge face in his little hands, drawing him in. He found that Beorn kissed with an unexpected delicacy, the soft pulses of his tongue maddening in their sensuality. Bilbo let his hands wander through Beorn's long, coarse hair, over his huge burly shoulders where it grew in thick and soft and felt good beneath his hands. Beorn's chest, solid and strong in its swells of muscle and flesh, his nipples big as coins and hard as thimbles, making Beorn shiver and ripple and roll when Bilbo tweaked them, getting a little bold with his pulls - for honestly, was there anything he could dish out that Beorn could not easily take? Certainly Beorn would let him know if he overstepped bounds.

Beorn loomed over Bilbo and Thorin now, studying keenly the heavy bodies of hobbit and dwarf, admiring Bilbo's pale thighs bent back over Thorin's big hairy ones, watching the rolling push and rock of their thrusts. With a sound almost like the hopeful quiet roar of a hunting big cat, he presented his cock further, waiting for Bilbo to reach out and take hold. He did not have to wait long, for Bilbo eagerly accepted it in both hands, rubbing from the base where the hair grew thick and black, all the way to the tip where there was no hair at all, just delicate foreskin peeled back from the thick, slightly pointed head. 

Bilbo was certain that Beorn's regal cockstand had had no ebb and flow, no waxing and waning during all of their play - and now, as he pressed in and squeezed, he thought he understood why. For it seemed now, this great rigid rod that occupied both his hands - it had a bone! The lower half of it was as solid and inflexible as his own arm (and just about as large). Muscle ringed the base, to draw it back in after a great and glorious climax, that Beorn was now demanding with his growls and movements as he thrust the great rod back and forth in Bilbo's hands, making gruff, wordless, happy sounds.

Oh, and now Thorin was biting Bilbo's shoulder as he fucked him as deep and slow as he could in their position, and Bilbo glanced behind to see Thorin’s eyes wide open, fixed on Beorn's big wet cockhead sliding through Bilbo's grip. Oh, Bilbo's own prick was awake now, ready for a second round. He felt like a young hobbit again, ready to take on the whole Shire. Or at least, his two very large projects of the moment - pleasure wound him tight and drove him mad, and he leaned forward in Thorin's embrace and nuzzled his face against the head of Beorn's prick, inhaling the raw musk of it and smearing its slickness over his face and his neck as Thorin and Beorn both gasped in approval at his wantonness.

"Tasty morsel it is, Beorn," Bilbo said with a grin as he licked his lips and then fluttered his tongue against the slit at the tip to taste the salt and bitterness of him. It was sweeter than he expected - perhaps not so surprising for a creature who ate no meat, and a great deal of honey - and Bilbo realised yet again that he was hungry. He began to suck, pressing as much of the hot flesh into his mouth as he could (which really was not very much, and Bilbo had to confess he was glad that he had not insisted on taking Beorn in any more intimate entrance, for Thorin's big cock was quite enough to be going on with there.)

Bilbo had clever hands as well, and he used them, and he let Beorn see his pleasure as he writhed against Thorin, and then pulled Beorn’s cock close and let it rub against his chest. The setting moonlight shone in Bilbo’s eyes as he threw his head back for a moment, and also saw by that deceptive, changeable light a change in Beorn. Where once Beorn looked a man with some of the aspect of a bear, he was now rather more a bear with somewhat of the aspect of a man. He’d think it a mere trick of the light, but for Thorin’s gasp and protective clutch - even as Thorin’s cock seemed to swell even larger inside him; Bilbo was not the only one to have seen this, nor the only one to be aroused by it.

Lying back against Thorin, spreading his thighs as wide as they’d go, rolling his hips to tug and pull at Thorin inside him and sliding his hands up and down Beorn’s giant shaft, Bilbo sank into sharp bliss as pleasure grew and swelled in the cradle of his hips, stiffening his cock fully again, getting him ready for a second, smaller, slower climax. He felt comfortable against Thorin’s strong, hairy body and secure in his arms - he felt bold and very filthy holding onto Beorn’s cock and letting the groaning, grunting bear-man hump and rut against him.

Thorin dropped his hands and clutched at Bilbo’s hips as he picked up the pace, bouncing Bilbo up and down on his prick, faster and faster, whispering and gasping into Bilbo’s ear with strange, desperate praises and beggings, “oh please, please my Bilbo, yes, yes like that, just like that, don’t stop . . . “ and Bilbo wanted to say that he could not stop even if he wanted to, for much of his motion was in fact Beorn grinding his big, slick cock against Bilbo’s small, sweaty body.

The speed of Beorn’s thrusts grew and he pressed down low, squeezing Bilbo between his bulk and Thorin’s, and it was a hot, sticky, tickly sweet crushing sensation that made Bilbo writhe and moan and press his chest up against Beorn’s member, squeezing and sliding. Beorn emitted a quick series of deep, broken, loud growls that caused delicious vibrations, and then with a roar directed to the sky, he heaved and shook and completed his transformation for a long shuddering moment. It was as a bear that he covered Bilbo in white, slightly honey-scented slick seed. His great bear’s teeth snapped at the moon as he was careful to avoid biting Bilbo - for bears bite their mates in the heat of passion, being used to partners who have thick fur and tough skin like themselves.

Bilbo cried out as he licked Beorn’s emission from his face, ran his hands through it where it dripped and pooled on his chest and belly. Behind him, wrapped around him, Thorin gave a high, raspy cry at the sight and sound and scent of it, thrusting into Bilbo desperately and filling him near as full inside as he was covered without, sucking on the sensitive tip of the hobbit’s ear. Thorin’s hand grasped Bilbo’s cock and stroked it, slick with Beorn’s spending, and Bilbo shivered and gave himself over to a second climax, pleasure bursting inside him, and driving desperate little sounds out of him, muffled into Beorn’s hairy (but once again manlike) chest. Even though it was his second, he still had a little contribution to make to the mess his two partners had made of him.

He made soft whimpering sounds as the last waves squeezed him dry (though his skin was anything but), as Thorin carefully withdrew from him and Beorn poked at the great puddle he had made, and gently wiped Bilbo’s face with a huge hand that was considerably less pawlike than it had so recently been.

“Look at me,” Bilbo said happily, laughing, swiping at some of the substance in his hair. “I am absolutely disgusting, and so soon after my first good bath in a long time too.” He smiled and relaxed back into Thorin’s arms. Thorin was regarding him a little possessively and Beorn a little warily now that his own throes of desire had passed.

“Well then, filthy bunny, perhaps you think we should work as hard to clean you as we did to soil you,” Beorn said with a wide lazy grin.

“I’d like that very much,” Bilbo said, smiling and reaching his hand back to pet Thorin’s beard by way of reassurance.

“But there is no need for that,” Beorn said, scratching his hairy chest which admittedly looked a bit crusty. “Personally, I’d very much enjoy a swim in my duck pond, and I invite my very welcome guests to join me.”

Thorin looked at Bilbo with a questioning sound. “Won’t the water be a bit cold for those with, er, quite a lot less fur?”

Bilbo sighed, for as a general rule, most hobbits are wary of water - but Bilbo himself had become grateful enough for it on this journey. The idea pleased him and yet cold did not.

“No, dear Thorin,” Beorn said, taking the familiarity to which he now felt entitled, rather reasonably. “The Sun has bent her fiery golden face over my pond all day all summer, and the Moon comes down to bathe when the night sky chills him and he wants warmth. We will be fine, and we will clean our fur and float.” With this, he stood, resplendent in his body - all manlike now, but for his eyes - and with a wicked smile, he bent and picked up Bilbo like a child.

Thorin huffed and complained, but had no choice but to follow. He it was who picked up their discarded clothes and carried them to the pond-banks, keeping a strict and possessive eye on Beorn.

The glimpse of Thorin’s face over Beorn’s shoulder made Bilbo smile - for all that it could be rather irritating in practice, the knowledge that Thorin considered him a treasure to be guarded was not a wholly unpleasant one. Still, it would not do to coddle him overmuch, for Bilbo was an independent-minded hobbit who was learning to take care of himself very well, thank you very much.

And for just a moment a real fear washed over him, deeper and sharper than any he had experienced in Beorn’s clutches - for the secret that had helped him through great darkness and danger already was in his waistcoat pocket still, and now it was in Thorin’s hands. Well he knew how easily it could be lost.

He kept the stricken look from his face rather well, he thought, and squirmed to be set down at the water’s edge. Then, as Beorn’s great thighs parted the reeds, Bilbo quickly searched through his clothes on the pretext of the handkerchief he did not have. Feeling the round outline through his pocket, he swiped at the honey residue in his middle curls (those between his head and his feet), and trotted on into the water happily, splashing a bit at Thorin and favouring him with a secret smile. “Splendid idea, Beorn,” he said as the water lapped at him when he waded in to the waist - indeed it was cool but not cold. “Lovely washing for our buttered buns.”

“You are a cheeky one,” Thorin said sternly, but with a secret smile as he gave one of those said round cheeks a fond squeeze as he nudged past Bilbo into the water.

Despite the mild chill that gave him tingly gooseflesh, despite the discomfort that most clans of hobbit-kind feel when forced to sink or swim, Bilbo padded out to let the water rise to his chest and shoulders and to watch Beorn and Thorin wade deeper - feeling cleansed, feeling light, feeling safe and so pleasantly satisfied, a little less afraid of the dangers up ahead.


End file.
